


Hark! The Herald Angels Plot

by Angels_Grace



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Beelzebub - Freeform, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Gabriel is a dickhead, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kidnapping, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Apocalypse, Protective Crowley, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-07-11 16:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angels_Grace/pseuds/Angels_Grace
Summary: After the apocalypse that wasn't, Crowley and Aziraphale recieve an unexpected visitor





	1. Gabriel Comes With a Message

Crowley had been learning how to sleep. Such vulnerability did not come easily to the demon, but he very much enjoyed the act of waking up tangled up in his angel's arms. It was a perk of the apocolypse that never was and, in order to enjoy it, he had to get better at falling asleep. Aziraphale was curled up against him, lost to the world as he slumbered. Sleep was evading Crowley this evening. He had an arm wrapped around the angel and another was reaching over to turn the pages of an old book cradled in his lap. He was certain it would knock him out through boredom alone. That or he could just hit himself over the head with it. He had been battling through the ancient script for at least an hour, but his eyes were still alert, his mind jumping between consonants and vowels as though it was being chased. He felt an uneasy stirring, something occult dancing just beyond the reach of his senses. He had been edgy, feeling watched all evening, unable to convince himself he was safe enough to really sleep and leave his angel unprotected.

There was a creak in the bookshop below. He paused, his head cocked to the side as he waited to hear it again. Buildings as old as Aziraphale's shop came with all manner of bumps in the night. However he doubted that any of this building's neighbours had quite so many miracles built into it's walls to keep everything 'just so'. He heard it again, like a single, hollow footstep diectly beneath him. He tried to convince himself it was just a mouse tugging an old volume around the floors. However, he knew no mouse in london could avoid the whispers of an immense black snake who often prowed the shop at night. Maybe it was a suicidal mouse, he reasoned. Maybe it was his imagination.

The muffled sound came a third time and the demon swore under his breath. He laid aside the volume and eased his arm from behind the angel. A dressing gown appeared from the ether and he snatched the silk up, pulling it around him and tying it loosely as he made for the staircase. He knew every creaking floorboard in the place, there were no miracles needed to get him silently to the foot of the stairs. His quarry certainly had not heard his approach. Crowley found a figure in the middle of the shop, his back turned to the demon as he investigated the piles of books. The demon mustered up his best impression of Aziraphale "Oh i'm afraid we are most definitely closed, Sir." He said with a fretful air. There was no mistaking a suit tailored with such perfection, almost miraculous in the way it flattered the broad shoulders and long frame of the man in the shop. There was no mistaking Gabriel.

"Ah Aziraphale I-" Gabriel began, turning around and stopping short as he saw the demon in the doorway, eyes aflame.  
"Evening, Gabe" he smiled, leaning languorously against the door frame. "Expecting someone else were we?" He asked.  
"Well, it is Aziraphale's name above the bookshop. A simple mistake to make." He said, eyes narrowing as he took in his attire.  
"Evidently." The demon grinned.

"I should have expected you, the whole place reeks of demon. What are you doing here?" Gabriel asked, pulling off driving gloves which matched his coat exactly. He stuffed them deep into his pockets. Crowley wondered whether Gabriel had ever really driven or if he just jogged across the cosmos at the beck and call of the Almighty.  
"Well ... I thought that would be obvious, even for you." Crowley said, fiddling with the tie of his robe. There was no point in subtlety now, the apocalypse had failed months ago and Crowley had made himself utterly at home in Aziraphale's life almost as long. Heaven was truly blind if they didn't know what the pair were up to. Gabriel looked suitably disgusted and the demon grinned. Crowley pushed off the doorframe, snatching up a pair of sunglasses he had left by the till that evening as he wandered past. He covered his eyes.  
"Micheal had suggested you were making your .. fraternization more overt, but this? I thought even you would have a little more decorum." Gabriel scoffed.  
"Decorum ... yeah, not one of my strong points." Crowley shrugged, making his way further into the room, wings unfurling into this reality behind him.

"What are you doing here, Gabe?" He asked conversationally. "Fancy a bit of Shakespeare in the middle of the night?"  
"Official business. I'm not at liberty to disclose it to anyone but Aziraphale, especially not someone such as yourself." He sneered. "He is here, Aziraphale?"  
"He is." The demon conceded, leafing through a book and dropping it again before he added. "Sleeping soundly, which is how he'll stay."  
"I don't think that's up to you." Gabriel said. "I'm taking him back to Heaven. His presence is required." Gabriel said it pleasantly enough, but the image of Hellfire was fresh in Crowley's mind. He had no doubt that if they convinced his angel to step foot in head office, he would never see him again. Crowley smirked at the challenge. He had gotten used to having Aziraphale to himself in the past three months. He wasn't ready to lose him now, certainly not to Gabriel. "Do you have an appoinment? I'm afraid my angel is fully booked, theatre trips, restaurants, walks in the park..."  
"Sounds idylic. How you must be enjoying your retirement." Gabriel said cuttingly.  
"Oh yes, very sedate. Just my cup of tea." Crowley grinned.

"Do you think this is a Joke?" Gabriel demanded. Crowley moved faster than Gabriel would have dreamed, pushing the angel back into a bookshelf, a thin hand closing firmly around his neck. All traces of levity were gone, replaced by a loathing the burned like ice. "You want to know what'ssss funny?" He hissed, his anger making his words faintly serpentine. "You trying to burn my angel out of existence, to take him away from me and sssmiling while you did it. Then, you come here, to his home, and think you can take him again? You think I'll allow that? That'sss the joke." He was glaring up at the angel, eyes a molten gold over the rim of his glasses. The fury in him had the gold pooling from corner to cornea, his pupils the thinnest slits of black. "Maybe the joke isss I burn you here and I sssend Heaven your ashesss in a book of prophesssy." He felt Gabriel swallow, felt the pulse thrumming against his hand. It would be so easy to extinguish him, another celestial candle blown out. Something in him ignited at the thought of smiting a creature who would take Aziraphale from him, to whom the thought of him and Aziraphale together was disgusting, repulsive, against every natural order. He could make it all go away, he could keep them safe. At the very least he could discorporate him, buy them a few months as all the paperwork for a new vessel went through. He tightened his hand, feeling the angel's panic begin to rise. He watched in fascination as the shades of the vessel's skin started to redden.

"Crowley, dear, who are you talking to?" Aziraphale's quiet voice seemed so small, still rumpled from sleep. Crowley didn't turn around. He held his ground for a moment, staring into his eyes until Gabriel knew what he was capable of. He may have been behaving recently, but he was still a demon, after all. He sighed, knowing the trouble he'd be in if he finished the job. He let Gabriel go with a push back. The heavy shelves wobbled but held their ground as Gabriel collided with them. Crowley took a step back as Gabriel righted his suit petulantly. He took some satisfaction as he saw the angel adjusting his collar with a wince.  
"No-one worth your time, angel. Go back to bed." Crowley said soothingly. For half a moment he thought Aziraphale might do as he was told. There was a hesitant tread on the floorboards of the shop as he cept closer. No such luck. 

"Oh, Gabriel. My, this is unexpected." The smaller angel blushed as he took in the scene.  
"I was just filling Gabe in on an ancient human custom that he wasn't aware of, angel. The one where a 'closed' sign means you aren't welcome." Crowley said.

"I've come with a mission, directly from the Almighty." Gabriel said, looking at Crowley as he spoke. He knew Gabriel wanted to see his reaction to bring left at the first invitation from heaven. He steeled himself for the pain. The demon stuck his tongue out at him childishly as Aziraphale drew up to the pair of them timidly.  
"I must admit ... I find that hard to believe." He said, glancing up at Crowley.  
"And why is that, brother?" Gabriel said with the barely supressed exasperation of a nursery teacher.  
"Well last time I came to head office you didn't seem all that keen on having me. Certainly you thought i wasn't a brother of yours any longer."  
"It was the apocolyse, Aziraphale, tempers fray." He said, spreading his hands in a rehearsed gesture, as though that was an adequate apology for trying to burn him from existence. A low growl built in Crowley's throat.  
"Well you see... the thing is...."  
"Spit it out Aziraphale, I don't have all night." Gabriel sighed.  
"Watch your manners." Crowley hissed. There was a long silence as Crowley decided not to rip the smug bastard apart.

Aziraphale laid a consoling hand on Crowley's arm, stepping lightly in front of the demon as he spoke. Crowley relaxed at the touch but he wished the angel was still safely behind him. He didn't trust Gabriel not to suddenly produce a sword of his own. "Of course. The thing is that I don't really work upstairs anymore, the whole business with the fire proved that. We're on our own team now and the Almighty seems pretty pleased with that arrangement." He said. At the dumbfounded expression on Gabriel's face, the demon smiled proudly, how long had Aziraphale shrunk himsef away to accomodate Gabriel and the others? Here he was denying them all, to stay with his demon.  
"Your own side?" Gabriel repeated blankly. "You and the snake?" At the mention, Crowley wound his arms possessively around the angel, pulling him back against his chest, his wings flared aggressivelly behind him like the hood of a cobra. He watched the blush creep up aziraphale's neck in the half light. It was one thing to say it and another to be so plainly wrapped around one another, to so casually do something so forbidden."Well, us and the humans." Aziraphale corrected.  
"But mostly just the two of us after business hours." Crowley smiled into the angel's pale curls.

There was a fury in the archangel's purple eyes and something else that masqueraded as disgust. choose ye faces carefully, the demon thought. An idea formed in his mind. He savoured it quietly. "Perhaps ... It's ineffable?" Aziraphel suggested. Crowley felt a twitch in the angel's shoulders as though he were struggling to suppress a laugh. Crowley smirked and dropped a kiss on Aziraphale's head "Maybe it's time to go back to bed, angel. I'll see Gabriel out." He said indulgently.  
"We aren't finished here." Gabriel snapped. "I don't know what kind of sick fantasy you two think you're playing out but I'm here to put a stop to it. You can't be seen to be flouting the rules like this. The natural order won't withstand it. Before you know it there'll be angels and demons ... cavorting on every street corner. It's sick." He seethed.  
"I'm glad for your concern, but I think you'll find I'm quite well protected from the likes of Heaven, thank you." Aziraphale said primly. He waved a hand and the door opened, the peel of the bell lost in the sudden tide of noise from the fading Soho night.  
"And I'll be seeing to the angel proofing in the morning so don't get any ideas about trying to sneak back in here, hellfire is so easy to accidentally burn a legion of angels with..." Crowley smiled.

Gabriel headed stiffly for the door, turning back at the last moment. "Do you honestly think you'll get away with this? Heaven and Hell are conspiring and there's only two of you. You don't stand a chance." Crowley was growing bored of his threats and intimidation, he wanted to pay a game. He draped himself further over Aziraphale and grinned.  
"How is sister Beelzebub, by the way?" Crowley asked out of the blue as a parting shot. Aziraphale stilled in his arms. Gabriel's perfect veneer cracked. For just a moment Crowley saw through his corporeal form. He saw the wrath of an archangel and it chilled him. It was ancient and remorseles. In Gabriel's eyes he saw oblivion. He didn't let the angel see him ruffled, instead just smirking at the confirmation. "You best run along if she's expecting you. She makes Michael look like a saint, but you know that already." The demon smiled. Gabriel left the shop without another word. The door gave an occult slam on his heels, the lock clicking loudly and the blinds rolling down sharply.

Aziraphale's eyes were wide. "You shouldn't tease him, he doesn't bare it well. You don't think he and Beelzebub...?” he asked, turning to look up at the demon. "I think he most certainly wants to." He said, smiling down at the angel. The glance lingered and he was glad of his glasses to shield his real emotions from the angel. "Aziraphale, I-" he began, searching for the words. He hated how dependent he'd become, to the point he was about to beg the angel to stay with him.

With an innocent blink they were back in the bedroom, a frivolous miracle indeed.  
In fact, it wasn't until he felt Aziraphale's hands on him that he realised his robe and the angel's pyjamas had not made the move with them. The angel was doing away with all pretense, he must have been as shaken by the visit as Crowley.  
"Keen, angel?" He asked. The humour in his voice fell flat. Aziraphale sat up and studied him for a moment. Hands raised towards Crowley's face, it was becoming a common gesture but he hisitated and his angel gave him a beseeching look. Crowley conceded and let the angel draw the sunglasses carefully from his face, discarding them reverently. He took Crowley's chin in his hand and stared into his eyes. Crowley fought the urge to duck his head or make a barbed comment to push the angel away. This kind of vulnerability was so new to him. It might take centuries to break down the defences he had amassed against the angel's charm.  
"I'm never going back. What ever they say, I belong here, with you." Aziraphale promised "I'm yours." To hear what he had so longed for, for centuries, from his angel was almost enough to make Crowley weep. Every moment he was on edge, waiting for a flurry of wings to pass and to find himself alone once more. The angel was holding him, pressing kisses across his face and murmuring platitudes to soothe the demon from his fears. Just as the kisses dipped below his chin, Crowley tipped them over. He hovered over the angel for a moment, taking in his surprise. He bore down on Aziraphale, pressing him down into the mattress with the ferocity of his kiss.

Aziraphale's lips parted gladly but for a moment they struggled in the kiss, teeth and lips colliding. Crowley pulled his lips back to the angels ear, nipping at it before whispering "Please angel, just this once?" He let his defences fall just a little, cringing at the pathetic break of his own voice. Aziraphale looked up at him, shorn of his bravado. There was reverence in his expression and fear and longing and such pain. Aziraphale melted under his gaze "Oh my dear, you had only to ask." He said, a hand tracing Crowley's cheekbone. He leaned his head into the touch, his eyes drifting closed. The angel fell pliant under his touch, all soft lines and sighs. He returned Crowley's next kiss eagerly, letting the demon set a torturously slow pace. Crowley let his hands wander over the angel freely, flowing down his sides, over his gentle tummy to his hips. His wings enclosed them in a bubble of his own making, sheltering them both from the night. Though it was much gentler than their usual nocturnal activities, Aziraphale shiverred happily under every touch, releasing gentle hums and moans into the demon's mouth that made the pit of his stomach tighten. It was all he could do not to ravish the perfect being beneath him. He wanted to worship him, to wrap him in love that not even the Almighty could match, to claim every inch of his angel and push the thought and fear of Gabriel far from his mind. 

He left the angel's lips, kissing at the sensitive point where neck and chin met. He smiled against the skin when he heard the angel groan, pulling back to admire the rapidly darkening pink spot on his cream skin. "They won't take you away. I won't let them." The demon murmured, punctuating each senence with a new mark until the angel was squirming beneath him, his hands catching in the demon's hair, pulling him back up for another deep kiss. Crowley let his hand skate down the angel's chest once more, not stopping until he felt the stiff warmth of his cock pressing against has hand. The angel gasped, his eyes fluttering. "Please Crowley." He whispered. Try as he might, he could never deny his angel. He wrapped his hand around his length, moving in slow strokes until the angel was sighing. He watched his eyes slip closed in sublime pleasure, felt his body take up the slow rythm, so greedily wanting more of the demon so soon. Crowley wondered how anything so perfect as Aziraphale could look so fallen. He didn't deserve his angel and he knew it. He wanted to give him everything, wanted to make him stay. He pulled away from him gently.

The angel was about to protest, opening his eyes just in time to see the demon take his length into his mouth. Crowley hummed as he watched the angel's eyes roll. No-one else could touch his angel like this anymore. Crowley knew there was nothing on the angel's mind but him as the things he could do with his tongue. He took Aziraphale's full length gladly, moaning around him. He knew how much the angel loved to see his eyes. He locked them on the angel's anguished face, letting him see the depth of his love he usually kept locked away behind sarcasm and sunglasses. He let it radiate from him and Aziraphale sensed it, gasping quietly and closing his eyes tightly. 

Aziraphale's hips stuttered beneath Crowley's grip and the demon knew from his whimpers and shallow breaths he could not withstand him much longer. Crowley was nowhere near done with him yet. The angel's hands were tangling in his hair, tugging desperately. Eventually Crowley succumbed and pulled away, knowing how thoroughly debauched he must look. He sucked a dark mark into Aziraphale's hip. "Please my dear. I need you." He angel plead. To Crowley's disbelief, the angel's eyes were damp.  
"Oh my angel" he whispered, voice a rough velvet. He wiped away an escaping teat and traced the angel's swollen lips, pupils dilating as aziraphale turned his head, taking the fingers in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around them wantanly. The angel learnt fast what made Crowley's heart stop, he was doing his utmost to encourage him now. The display the angel was making drove Crowley to the point of distraction. He felt his own length twitching in response. 

"Ask me angel." He whispered, dragging his fingers back.  
"Take me, Crowley?" He whimpered gladly. The demon kissed him savagely, slipping a finger into the angel as he nipped at his lips. He pressed into him smoothly, encountering no resistance. He laughed gently into Aziraphale's open mouth. "You really were keen, love." He smiled, slipping another finger into him and another. "What else are miracles for?" Aziraphale smiled arching his back as pleasure arced through him. He smirked and curled his fingers sharply. "I don't need miracles, angel." He purred, stroking that sensitive spot that had the angel uttering the most delicious blasphemies. Crowley drank them like communion wine. 

After a few touches, Crowley couldn't wait any longer. He lifted the angel's hips and pushed into him with a deep moan. 

He stayed there a moment hapilly burried within his love, their foreheads touching and eyes squeezed closed. Of all the games they played, so few of them wound up like this that Crowley savoured the feeling. He the angel's hips rolled desperately and Crowley's composure broke. He slowly drew back before pushing into the angel again, barely resisting the urge to fuck the angel senselessly. He touched every inch of him, cacooned him in his arms and wings as he rolled into him. All the while Aziraphale was making him such sweet, debauched promises that crowly had to silence him with a kiss. Eventually not even his kisses silenced the angel and the job fell to a lithe had wrapped around his pretty pink cock. He stroked him in time with his thrusts, feeling the angel's inability to decide between pushing down onto his cock or up into his hand. He knew he was close when the angel began to twitch beneath him, words becoming senseless. "Yours Yours Yours." He angel chanted, his nails leaving deep grooves in the flesh of the demon's sides. "Fuck ... Angel I can't." He moaned, burrying his face in Aziraphale's pliant shoulder. The angel forced his head up, starting deep into the demons eyes. Crowley saw the moment it happened, the very instant the angel relented to him, the pleasure he been resisting. His eyes brightened and he called out Crowley's name, a song sweeter than all the harps in heaven. His whole body shook, tightening around Crowley in the most divine way. He came with a hoarse cry, his own orgasm ripped from him, as intense as falling. He gave a few shallow thrusts as they weathered the pleasant little aftershocks that followed, soon collapsing into the angel's chest.

The angel manouvered the demon into the bed beside him, dispensing with all the mess ethereally. He flattened himself atop the demon's chest, blinking sleepily. "I'm not going anywhere Crowley." He promised again.  
"I know." the demon murmured gently, finally feeling exhaustion setting in. "Can I tell you something silly?" Aziraphale whispered, running a hand through the demon's hair.  
"Of course, angel " he murmured back, pulling a blanket around Aziraphale. A blush was rising on the angel's cheeks. "When I came downstairs and saw you holding Gabriel like that ... I thought you were kissing him " he whispered. Crowley laughed quietly. "I promise you're the only angel I'll have up against the book cases." He teased. To his stupefied surprise, Aziraphale let out a sleepy little hum that sounded like he rather enjoyed the idea. Crowley held Aziraphale close as his eyes slipped closed, looking forward to waking up beside him again in the world of their making.


	2. The Other Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley won the battle, but the war for Aziraphale's soul continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was only supposed to be a one shot but my hand slipped.

Aziraphale woke slowly. The morning sun was pouring into the little bedroom above the bookshop and his body ached pleasantly. He stretched, feeling little pricks of pain humming pleasantly all over his corporeal form, feeling the ghost of where Crowley's lips had touched him. He opened his eyes lazily, it took him a moment to figure out which of the limbs tangled together were his own. A finger tilted up his chin and he was looking up into the demon's drowsy eyes. It was breath taking, the way those eyes glowed amber in the light. "morning, angel." Crowley hummed, closing the distance between them to capture the angel's lips with his own. Aziraphale sighed happily as he was released. "A good morning indeed." He agreed, voice heavy with sleep. The Demon's pupils dilated at the sound of it and he pulled Aziraphale protectively against his chest. "My love, I thought I had rather calmed you down last night." The angel said, smiling.

"S'not my fault, angel. Demon's covet things... I covet you." He smiled indulgently.

"Then you'll have to covet me in my absence." Aziraphale said, slowly sitting up and disentangling himself. Crowley hissed, eyes narrowing. "Where do you think you're going?" He demanded. Aziraphale smirked. Pride was a sin too, but he couldn't deny the feeling that arose in him at being so wanted by his demon. "I have some errands to run, my dear."

"Without me?" He pouted.

"Oh it would bore you silly, I'm picking up some books." He said.

"What books? I could carry them for you." Crowley said, flowing into the angel's lap.

"You seem to forget I am just as strong as you my dear. I am perfectly capable of carrying a few books. They're Shakespeare's, if you must know, early printings."

"Shakespeare?" The demon asked blankly. "You're turning down a lazy morning with me for fucking Shakespeare? You saw every play twelve times. Twelve! You have a photographic memory." He huffed, burrowing down into the duvet. Aziraphale smiled and wrapped himself around the sulking demon. He pressed a few kisses into the shell of his ear. The demon turned his face, one eye looking up at the angel. "Not these ones. They're new." He whispered. The demon must have heard the thrill in Aziraphale's voice. He relented and snuggled into him. "New how?" He asked. Aziraphale grinned. "They didn't exist before the apocalypse, but now? They're classics, added whole new litenies to the dictionary. " He enthused. The demon's eyes softened at his infections smile.

"I suppose I can loose you for an hour." He conceded as the angel's hand soothed between his shoulder blades. "I'll bring you back a treat." The angel smiled.

"So you're bringing yourself a treat?" The demon surmised. "Best make mine a coffee, angel." He purred.

Aziraphale got to his feet and stretched, shaking his wings out before he tucked them neatly behind him and they faded out of sight. As fascinated as the demon was by the snowy wings, Aziraphale felt his eyes on him all the more keenly now his view was unobstructed. He stretched once more for good measure, letting Crowley stare. Before he could move away from the bed, a hand shot out to grip his wrist. "My love!" He laughed, blushing as the demon spun him around.

"Beautiful. How do you expect me to let you go now?" He purred. Suddenly his pale skin was dark scales and the serpent was traveling up his arm and around his shoulders. It's forked tongue tickled his cheek. 

"Oh you are wiley." Aziraphale huffed, unwinding him and returning him to the bed.

"I can't take you, you'll distract me and I need a clear head for the negotiations."

"You already seem distracted to me, angel." He purred, human shaped once more. His clever hand reached for him and it was all Aziraphale could do not to collapse back to the bed. "Let me clear your mind for you?" He asked innocently. 

"I'm sure being a few minutes late wouldn't do any harm." He sighed. Temptation accomplished.

* * *

He was much more than a few minutes late. Crowley had ensured it. Aziraphale was running out of Soho, searching for a cab as he tugged at his bowtie. Crowley had been very insistent about trying to remove it with his teeth. He blushed at the memory, trying to push it to the back of his mind to review later.

There was a flash of something that caught the angel's eye up ahead. A grey jumper and beige overalls slipping down a side street. What on earth was an angel doing, well ... on earth? 

He should have turned on his heel and gone back to his demon, he could feel it in his corporeal bones even as he crept towards the mouth of the alleyway. He should have hurried off to his meeting then the bakery like he planned. Whatever Heaven was up to was no longer any of his business, after all. 

He might have followed his instincts if he hadn’t heard someone start to cry. The sound chilled him. In the alleyway a child was howling. He didn’t hesitate. Aziraphale rounded the corner, wishing he had his sword in hand like the old days. He didn't need Agnes Nutter to tell him to duck as he passed a dumpster. A metal bar clattered against the brickwork where his head had been. A shower of limestone shards scattered down over him. Crowley always teased that the angel needed saving, but he had been a sentinal of Eden, he had thwarted and smote in his time. He had wrath. He felt it, a sharpening of his instincts that drove him forward, his wings flared out behind him. The smell of sulfur was overwhelming as he collided with a demon. It grunted in surprise as he knocked it to the ground with his greater weight. Pinning it to the cobbles the angel brought his hand down upon the demonic forehead coated in scars. "Begone." He commanded, feeling the universe shift to his will as he discorporated the beast. There was a shower of sparks and Aziraphale toppled to the damp ground. He glanced around wildly, struggling to regain his footing. 

There was not another soul but for a child cowering at the end of the alley. Aziraphale crept closer, reaching for the snivelling child's shoulder. Before he could reach her, the child faded, dissolving and leaving him alone in the dead end. "Ah." He said, feeling rather foolish.

"Do you need to make it so easy Aziraphale? It's always a crying child with you."

If aziraphale had been expecting an angelic voice, it would have been Gabriel's but Uriel was standing behind him. Obviously Michael has lost some faith in the archangel's persuasive skills. Uriel was watching him beneath arched brows, grey suit immaculate and face impassive. Their coldness frightened him more now than it ever had. They were a bad angel. "Uriel! What a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked. It had been unsurprising to see Michael in Hell while he was wearing Crowley's face. They were ruthless after all, but Uriel in cahoots with demon muscle was worrying indeed. It certainly wasn't promising for Aziraphale's continued corporation. "This certainly won't be very pleasurable Aziraphale. We gave you the chance to come of your own free will yesterday. We were most disappointed in Gabriel's failure. You've forced my hand."

"To Heaven then?" He asked, smoothing down his waistcoat, still damp from the street. He knew they of he stepped foot in Heaven he would be beyond Crowley's reach. This would be the one time the demon couldn't save him. He rather thought he wouldn't be coming back to earth. His heart ached at the though of Crowley, waiting for him above the bookshop. He wondered how long it would take for him to get worried, if he would pace the floors or stare out of the window. He pictured those beautiful eyes as an unspecified weapon struck the back of his head.

* * * 

Aziraphale was a long way from Heaven, as far as it was possible to go. He knew where he was before he opened his eyes. It wasn't the stench, although that alpne have been a dead give away. A malevolence surrounded the angel, it pulsed, searching around his corporeal form. Aziraphale bit back a groan and opened his eyes. He was lying curled up on a bench in the middle of a dim room. The walls were dark with scortch marks, though one reflected the limited glow of the lighting dully. They were watching him. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. It was more difficult than he expected it to be. He glanced down, noticing himself bound at the wrists and ankles with a thin black rope. He pulled against the restraint but it held tight. A miracle fell useless against them. The fist curl of unease spread through the angel as the restraints began to burn. The bench beneath him began to glow, light emanating from the deep grooves of runes carved into it. "Ah ... I rather think this is an altar." He said to himself. 

"How astute, angel." Came a rasping voice. It buzzed like a hive of pissed bees. Aziraphale twisted around to the open doorway. Beelzebub looked much taller in Hell. Their whole form rippled, made up of thousands of overlapping insects fighting to sustain a body. "That is your name, isn't it? You certainly seen to enjoy it when demons use it. Maybe just one demon in particular..." They drawled, heading for the altar. Aziraphale knew it would be useless to try and escape the alter, he could feel the wall of energy the runes sustained to trap him there. He decided not to take the bait about Crowley. He arranged himself as primly as he could manage, barely restraining a tut at the state of his coat, had they dragged him to Hell? "I can't say this is entirely unexpected. I like what you've done with the place." He commented, trying to muster the self assurance he had brought with himself last time he was in Hell.

"Now isn't the time to be cocky, angel." Beelzebub seethed. He hated the way the endearment sounded on their lips. From Crowley it sounded like worship. Here it was a slur of the fowlest kind.

"Want to know what we have in store for you?" They leered.

"I have an awful feeling I'm about to find out." He sighed.

"We're gonna take it in turnzzz, Heaven and Hell. We're going to take you apart and figure out what you are theezzee dayzzz." Their voice was soft, almost seductive as they made their promises. Aziraphale swallowed. "We know holy water and hell fire aren't any good against you now, so we're going to have to get... Experimental. I hear your into that sort of thing though." Aziraphale stayed silent, but he couldn't hold Beelzebub's gaze. He looked down at his bonds instead. "Don't bother, they're cursed." Beelzebub said, as though they expected Aziraphale to make a break for it.

"I'm sure he figured that out already, he's too smart for his own good." Gabriel said, slipping into the room. He stayed by the door uncomfortably.

"Not smart enough, obviously." Beelzebub said snidely. "You want the first crack at him, or ...?"

"your side can kick it off ... I'm sure we'll get the hang of it from your demonstration." He said distastefully. "No big strong demon to protect you now, Aziraphale. You should have listened to me. I'm sure he'll be very glad to know his protection is what brought you here."

"Well angel, it's your unlucky day. Have you met Dagon yet? There'll be a lot of demons waiting a turn with you, but I think it's only fitting that the master of tortures start things off." Beelzebub continued, enjoying their little double act.

"It'll make him mad, he'll try to find me." aziraphale said, the understatement of the century.

"Your demon? Well that was rather the point angel. Once we figure out what it is that'll do the pair of you in, we'll practice it on you and send him an invitation straight to Hell. I don't think he'll be likely to refuse once he knows it's your resting place." Beelzebub said.

Aziraphale didn't mind dying, not really. He'd had a good run, the apocalypse was averted, the humans would be safe. He had told the demon how he felt, spent a few shining months in his company. Really it would be greedy to want anything else. The thought of Crowley mourning him, that was harder to take, but Crowley not existing was simply unthinkable. Someone had to keep the humans safe. He prayed that the Lord, in all Her planning, would find a way to keep his demon from trying to rescue him.

Beelzebub was watching his expression carefully, a cruel smile playing over their own.

"Maybe you don't think he's a demon at all. He's too gentle ... too loving. Do you think you saved him angel?" They laughed. It sounded like a fly running it's legs together. "Maybe we'll let you live just long enough to see his truth, see his wrath. Then, when he sees the disappointment in your eyes, that's when we'll kill you." Fear would be half of the punishment, Aziraphale knew that. He was determined to stay above it, to deny them the satisfaction, but he could already feel the adrenaline in his veins. He clenched his fists to stop the shaking of his hands. Beelzebub reached out and laid a convulsing hand on aziraphale's cheek, he swallowed his revultion. If this was what the touch of a demon felt like, Crowley really was an angel. He pictured waking that morning, finding strength in the innocence of it. "Oh Dagon likes it best when they're defiant. We best get a move on, we need to get you roughed up before Crowley realises you're gone." Aziraphale let his love for the demon radiate from him, it was his only protest now. It was indecent, it was repulsive to every creature in the room. The angel smiled as the first blow landed.


	3. From The Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has always loved the sciences. He adored how humans bumped into something scary and tore it apart to figure out how it worked. He loved how they made sense of the chaos around him and explained his own demonic existence. He particularly loved physics. Not because the Middle Ages had consisted of lounging around great minds who invented whole machines just to look at the beauty of his stars. It was because of the Doppler effect, really...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️Implied torture, wounds and a bit of angst⚠️
> 
> I actually tried to proof read this one though, you’re so welcome.

Crowley has always loved the sciences. He adored how humans bumped into something scary and tore it apart to figure out how it worked. He loved how they made sense of the chaos around him and explained his own demonic existence. He particularly loved physics. Not because the Middle Ages had consisted of lounging around great minds who invented whole machines just to look at the beauty of his stars. It was because of the Doppler effect, really. The Doppler effect is all about how humans experience sound. Long story short, distant sounds are quiet and low, getting progressively louder, shriller and more nightmare-inducing as they tear towards you. This was what Crowley was experiencing as he paced the bookshop. 

His sense of Aziraphale’s bodily safety had been honed over six thousand years. Vague or minor danger was a prickle of hair at the back of his neck and a low and distant murmur. The business in the reign of terror had been an ambulance hurtling towards him at 120 mph as he scrabbled across the French countryside to reach him in time. What was reverberating in his skull now was every alarm and siren humanity had ever conceived, all fighting to be the loudest. It was all he could do not to smash the place in a single occult pulse in an attempt to break free of the clamour. 

Aziraphale had been gone just over an hour. Crowley knew that it would probably be over an hour until the meeting was done and the angel was back, but the pulsing in his head made it clear that something was very wrong indeed. Since the apocalypse, they had really only parted at night. When they admitted their feelings to each other, even that brief separation had ceased. When the familiar unease had started, Crowley had tried to convince himself that he was just getting used to being alone again, that the run in with Gabriel had shaken him. He had tried to channel the anxiety into something useful by carving spells around the bookshop to ward off unwelcome visitors. He’d had to revise it to unwanted ethereal and occult beings when he realised that all of Aziraphale’s customers were, in fact, unwanted guests. That had taken barely any time and the nagging feeling had only grown to its current fever pitch all the faster in his idle hands.

He couldn’t stay in the shop anymore, not if it was going to stay standing. He had already worn a trail into the floor with his pacing. He had made up his mind. He staggered out onto the street. Had Aziraphale said where the meeting was? Of course not. He shouldn’t have let him go. He could get into trouble in a paper bag. He swayed slightly as the ringing in his head met the hubbub of the street which was always miraculously muted within the bookshop. “Bit early for that isn’t it?” A tourist commented, eyeing his drunken wobble. 

“Well it is Soho dear, it takes all sorts.” His wife said, meaningfully eyeing the rainbow flags festooning every building. 

He closed his eyes, trying to dull the sensory overload enough to focus on his sense of smell. Soho assaulted him, street food and oily puddles, beer and frilly cocktails. Under it all was Aziraphale, the warren of streets had built itself around him after all. Where else would be the gayest part of London but the one with his angel at its epicentre? They had all been searching for solace and of course the angel had shown love to every waif and stray that passed his door over the centuries.

One strand of his scent was stronger than the rest. It was like old pages, coffee and just a touch of caramel. He followed it past the bakery and several clubs with ease. Crowley hesitated as the scent dulled suddenly where Soho relented to Chinatown. He back tracked, looking in confusion down the only other available path. The alley was dark and damp and smelled putrid. It was the very opposite of the kind of place the angel would go willingly. “Where are you, Aziraphale?” He growled, plunging into the alley. 

The scent of discorporation was thick in the alley, like static and a stinging in his gums. He clapped a hand over his nose but it was too late. Part of his mind fractured to the last time he had smelt it. Aziraphale’s bookshop was burning and he was gone, he was dead. The world was ending and Crowley didn’t give a shit. He was pulling up a front row seat as the pages burnt. Crowley dragged in a breath. That was over. Technically it had never happened. He was on his knees in a crappy alleyway. He had promised he wouldn’t loose the angel again, yet here he was, gripping a grimy wall not 300 feet away with the same alarm in his mind. 

The demon forced himself into the moment, pawing at the sooty patch of discorporation on the cobbles. He made himself sniff it. The bulk of it was sulphurous, only the faintest hint of angelic ozone lingered around the soot. Aziraphale had managed to discorporate a demon here. Crowley shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was. He always forgot how capable Aziraphale could be, how much of an angel he remained under his bumbling humanity. He should never have had to do it alone though. Crowley vowed he’d find whoever this had been and would put an end to his occult form too. He threw a handful of the ashes down the alley in frustration.

A soft glow started up at the dead end where the cinders landed. Orange reflected off the damp stones like an inviting fire. Crowley rose and stalked towards it. His suspicions were confirmed when he looked down at the pentagram etched into the Victorian street. A gate to Hell, left wide open for any fool to fall down. Crowley wrinkled his nose at the flagrancy of Hell’s contempt. They knew he would follow, jumping back into Hell without hesitation if the angel was endangered. Whatever they were doing to Aziraphale, it was all because of him. They could be hurting him just to get Crowley’s attention. 

He concentrated on keeping his corporeal form as he stepped through the circle. 

Crowley landed with a hard thud on his hand and knees. He tensed, letting his wings snap out defensively against the blows he expected. No ambush came. He pulled himself up, taking in the dingy corporate hellscape he found himself in. The mint carpet was stained, the fake plants dropped. An empty water cooler gave a desperate groan.

As he stood, Crowley realised Aziraphale's scent had been stronger on the floor. He had been dragged through the corridor? The demon loosed a snarl, his humanity harder to keep track of below as his rage was met by the ambient malevolence. Even his form was beginning to blur, sharp teeth feeling more like fangs. He absolutely refused to let the little horns manifest, they were a bugger to put away. 

He followed the trail exactly as they wanted him to, obedient to the last. Not a soul, damned or otherwise, crossed his path. He finally realised what the other scents were. Beelzebub, Hastur and Dagon were expected but something was wrong. Gabriel and the gang, all of them had passed, recently, along this hall, their smells overlapping Aziraphale’s. A sick well of hope sprang up in his chest, maybe rescue had already come for his angel. 

He remembered Gabriel’s smirk as he stepped into the fire dressed up as Aziraphale, and his hope deflated. Heaven was in on it.

The trail stopped again and Crowley’s heart fell. He recognised this corridor only too well. He was in Dagon’s department. They had taken the angel into an experimental torture chamber. He rested a hand against the laminate wood of the door, so outwardly innocent. Of course they would put him here, in the chamber the demon himself had been punished so many times before. He inhaled deeply and steeled himself. He would extricate the angel no matter what it cost him. 

The door flew off its hinges and Crowley stepped into another world. The chamber was more like a cave. Somewhere there was water trickling, dampening the air and making it hard to drag in a breath. A two way window graced one wall and Crowley knew he was part of the show. In the dim reflection of the window, he saw his fears reflected. The only thing the demon could focus on was the low altar pulsing with a blue glow. Sprawled across it was a vision of white in the grime of Hell. 

“Aziraphale.” He breathed, moving to his side quickly. The angel didn’t stir. “Angel, please?” He begged. The angel’s breath hitched and his eyes flickered open. “Oh, thank somebody.” He gasped, eyes filling. He went to touch him, reaching a hand through the blue glow without thinking. He howled in pain, half collapsing as his hand met the light. It was keeping the angel in and the demon out. Aziraphale was cringing in on himself as he watched. “I’m getting you out of there, Angel.” He hissed through clenched teeth. He shook the pain out of his hand and turned his attention to the barrier parting them. 

Aziraphale recoiled at the name and shook his head quickly. Why wouldn’t they speak to him? He put his hand under lip of the altar and the lights faltered as a long crack split the stone. They fell into darkness, only illuminated by the fluorescent lights in the hallway. Aziraphale looked more like a ghost than an angel in the pallid light. 

“Come here, Love.” He murmured gently. Aziraphale shook his head again. “Angel, we don’t have the time. I need you to come with me. Let me carry you.” He said, going to put his hands around his middle. Seeing Aziraphale recoil from his touch, fear in his eyes, was too much to bear. He was looking at him like ... like a demon. It hurt more than any physical torture they could inflict on him. 

“What did they do to you Aziraphale?” He asked, unable to understand the reaction. It was one of his greatest fears, his essence being revolting to his angel. He half wondered if the horns _had_ manifested. He’d never even told a Aziraphale about them. Another possibility, so much worse crosses his mind. “Can ... can you remember me?” He whispered, imagining six thousand years of friendship and love wiped away. He knew Gabriel had the means and motivation to change the angel’s memories. He would let them smite him where he stood rather than live with a reset Aziraphale roaming the world without him. “Please Angel, do you know who I am?” He begged. 

The angel hesitated. “I know that face, I would know it anywhere. Who’s wearing it is another matter.” He whispered, throat croaking. What they had been doing to the angel all fell into place in his mind. More of the altar crumbled to atoms in his grip. He couldn’t afford to scare Aziraphale anymore, but the pain was threatening to rip him apart. “They hurt you, looking like me.” He breathed. Aziraphale gave a single nod. Crowley pulled away, scrubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. He gave a short, restrained groan as the thought sunk in, rather than the scream he wanted to reverberate off the walls. He wanted them all to know that he knew, he wanted them cowering from his wrath. He felt the eyes through the two way mirror. He dropped his glasses to the floor and glared into it with all his menace.

“Guilty as charged, though honestly that was Heaven’s idea. Sadistic bastards” Came Beelzebubs drawl from the doorway. Crawley focused on their dark silhouette in the mirror for a moment, letting the bloodlust well up in him. He hadn’t fought Beelzebub before, but he was taking stock of the weaknesses. “You’ll forgive me if he doesn’t want to follow you, we’ve played that game a few times already. You rescue him, the pair of you get to a shiny elevator, your face dissolves into mine or Hastur’s or Michael’s. That's usually when he isn’t quite so happy about holding hands anymore, especially mine. The first time he tried to kiss you, well, Gabriel. Every time his arse gets dropped back on the stone for some more traditional games.” They said. 

“He’s only been here an hour.” Crowley said, wild eyed as he backed towards the altar again to put himself between Beelzebub and the angel. He was realising that if they were ever going to escape he wouldn’t have time to hand out any vengeance. 

“You’ve been gone too long Crowley, don’t you remember how time works down here? It works however I want it to.” Beelzebub snapped.

“How long? Aziraphale, how long do you think you’ve been here?” He demanded. The angel didn’t answer. 

“Just a few days. I was hoping we could wheedle a week but you were quick on the uptake. You make a dangerous habit of ruining my planzzz, Traitor.” They seethed, their buzzing lisp returning. 

“I’m going to kill you all.” He growled “Get Luci down here and I’ll do the lot of you at once.” He seethed, going to step forwards again. He would pluck Beelzebub apart fly by fly and he’d enjoy it. Beelzebub smirked knowingly over Crowley’s shoulder at the angel. The gentlest touch on his hand stilled him, fingers barely stroking the back of his hand. He swallowed a sob and turned his hand palm up behind him. Aziraphale’s fingers traced over the lines there in the practiced way that normally melted his anxieties. He stepped down from his war footing, instead shielding the angel from view behind his dark wings. 

“How do I know?” Aziraphale croaked. Crowley knew what he meant.

“Ask me something. Ask me _anything_. The second you believe me, I’ll get you out. I won’t even stop to tear Gabriel’s throat out.” He said, not taking his eyes from Beelzebubs seething form.

“Then you can’t be _my_ Crowley.” He whispered. Crowley glanced around at that to see the barest ghost of a smile on his lips. There was his angel.

“I swear, Love.” He promised.

“What’s your favourite tea?” He asked

“Coffee.” He responded instantly.

“When did you fall?”

“For you? Eden.”

“When did I fall?” He asked much softer.

“10.37, Thursday the 26th May, 1941.” He reported.

“What’s your favourite Shakespeare?” Aziraphale asked.

“In front of demons, Love?” He asked. Aziraphale nodded. There were some of the bard’s plays it was appropriate for demons to enjoy, romantic comedies were not on that list.

“Much ado about nothing.” He admitted, daring beelzebub to comment with wild eyes.

“Its you.” Aziraphale sobbed, pulling him around to face him. Crowley crawled up into the broken altar and pulled him gently into his arms. “You apprehend passing shrewdly.” He whispered to the angel, a smile quirked his lips and he touched the demons cheek with certainty. “I can see a church by daylight.” He quoted back. There was no doubt in his angel at all now. He pressed his face into Crowley’s shoulder unashamedly. “They never got your scent right.” He whispered so quietly that nobody else would be able to hear it. He swallowed the tide of emotion that overcame him, holding the angel closer.

“Alright ladies. As delightful as Shakespeare in the park is, I’ve rather had enough. PLACES.” Crowley’s head snapped up as a countless number of demons appeared, melting out of the walls. Some wore his face, grinning and brandashing weapons that smelt definitively of angel. They had all just made onto the holy water list, he snarled at the thought of them all puddling up with dear old Ligur. No angels made an appearance. 

Crowley picked Aziraphale up with ease, eyeing the room for an escape route. It was obvious they wouldn’t make it out of the room, but he could make a good go of it. “You shouldn’t have come, I didn’t want you to.” Aziraphale whispered in his ear. “I wanted you to stay safe.” Crowley shook his head and held him closer to his chest, glaring down at Dagon. How could he respond to that?

“At ease everyone.” Beelzebub ordered. Every demon in the room, including Crowley, looked deeply confused by the order. “There’s nothing we can do to him that’s worse than wondering what we did to the soft one. Plus, now he knows that we can take what we want, when we want it.” They explained, daring a dissent from among them. None came. Beelzebub turned their gaze to Crowley, an unsettling smile forming on their face. “I’m warning you Crowley, we will be taking him from you, and it will be sooner than you think.” They promised, stepping aside. 

* * * 

As soon as they stepped out of Hell, Aziraphale sagged against him, speech lost to him again. 

The bookshop’s doors swung open to welcome them and slammed sealed behind them. The building knew something was deeply wrong. It pooled all its love around the angel. It bolstered him a little. Crowley laid Aziraphale on the couch in the back room. Red blooms were starting to appear through his many layers. His wounds were opening now that his corporeal form was back on the mortal plain. Aziraphale suddenly looked worryingly mortal indeed. 

Crowley looked over him in panic. The alarms had finally started to quiet as they passed him, now they slammed into reverse and came for him again. “What’s happening?” He gasped. Aziraphale tugged at his bow tie weakly. Crowley snapped and his top half was exposed, a cruel mockery of their morning together. The sight was more horrific than anything Crowley had ever seen in Hell. All the marks he had put on Aziraphale himself had been left intact, highlighted by an unharmed border of perfect pale skin. Every other inch of him was bruised and sliced and what enraged him most, bitten. He snarled in rage. In another room, something exploded, just pure anger looking for a release somewhere far from his angel. He met Aziraphale’s eyes, so much calmer than his own. The message was clear, by fraternising, he may as well have tortured the angel with his own hand. If they hadn’t had their unnatural relationship, the angel would never have been harmed.

"Oh Angel." He whimpered, hands hovering uselessly over Aziraphale's skin. The angel put his hand over Crowley's mouth to silence him. He shook his head softly and let his finger linger over the demons lips, a look in his eye of though he was testing himself. 

Crowley shifted closer, pressing his finger tips around a deep cut. He grunted with effort as he tried to will the wound closed. The familiar feeling of a miracle evaded him and Aziraphale made a stifled groan, hand holding his lips sealed. “I’m sorry Love, I’m so sorry.” He said, eyes skating over him in confusion. One of the cuts in his side glowed as though there were a red bulb beneath his skin, illuminating to Crowley that it wasn’t a random cut at all. The angel’s skin was riddled with spells, carved in the script of Hell. The illumination began to fade but Crowley could read it plainly enough. No amount of demonic stubbornness would change a thing. He couldn’t help the angel. The spells on him made demonic healing impossible, cut him from his own angelic power, sealed his lips and slowly sapped his strength. He was going to die. The cold realisation swallowed Crowley. His angel would bleed out as he watched helplessly. Beelzebub’s words rang in his mind. _It will be sooner than you think._

He swore, ripping a nearby blanket into strips to tourniquet the wounds. His vessel was losing too much blood. He tied him up as best he could but it was poor, he knew it. 

The angel’s eyes unfocused. “Aziraphale? No no no. You stay with me. You promised!” The demon spat, enraged by his helplessness. This was why it was so easy to escape, they knew there would be nothing Crowley could do but watch him die and it was all his own fault. His eyes filled and he tipped forward, his head on Aziraphale’s chest as he sobbed. A gentle hand brushed at the nape of his neck and he felt what he never deserved. Forgiveness washed over him, filled every pore and overflowed. The angel was giving up. “No.” Crowley moaned, looking up and grabbing his shoulders. “No you’re the clever one! Come up with something ... or I’ll never talk to you again.” He said. 

A light ignited in Aziraphale’s exhausted eyes as he scanned the room, fixing on something across the room. In an instant it was in Crowley’s hand. His phone. He looked at the angel blankly. “Who do you want to call, Angel?” He demanded “A fucking ambulance?”. He watched the angel screw up his might and an image flashed in his mind. It was dark and the Bentley purred behind him. There was an irregular clicking sound as he peered into a ditch at the broken form of the book girl. “The witch” he gasped, flicking through the contacts until aanethama’s voice was ringing out of the speaker. “How much blood has he lost?”

“How did you-“

“Don’t ask stupid questions, I’m a witch and we don’t have the time. How. Much. Blood?”

“Too much, the couch is red.” Crowley answered. “Book girl, I don’t know what to do. There’s all these spells. I can’t even touch him.” He admitted, gripping the phone tighter in his blood stained hand.

“I can do it. Open the door Crowley.” 

“What?” He frowned, looking up as someone hammered on the bookshop door so hard the window panes rattled.

“Open it!” She yelled. Crowley snapped his head up and the doors blew in so hard they almost ripped from their hinges. Framed in the light like an avenging angel stood Anathema Device. 

“Please?” The demon begged, his phone dropping to the floor beside him.

She ran to his side, kneeling beside the couch. “Hey Aziraphale.” She said tightly, opening a carpet bag she had brought with her. The angel smiled blearily at her. The demon crowded in behind her. She didn’t spare him a glance. "Crowley, I'm going to need some space to work and you aren't in any state to help. Go secure all the doors and windows. Theres a suspicious aura out there." Crowley was about to protest when the angel jerked and a thin line of blood trickled from between pressed lips. He stood stiffly and went to the doors. He had been working on the angel proofing all morning, he just needed to activate it. He pulled aside the mat by the door to reveal a long line of symbols carved into the wood. It stretched around every edge of the room in an unbroken chain. It was a protective litany designed to keep out both Heaven and Hell. If he'd done it right, it wouldn't burn them both to a cinder. With a slight miracle, the sigils glowed amber, the light spreading from one to the next like fire. Crowley tensed, but the work held and he felt himself held within it. The shop itself was protecting them. "Don't try and cross the threshold, Witch." He warned.

"Noted." She grunted, forcing the rim of a cup into Aziraphale's mouth. He resisted for a moment before her strength overcame his. He was so weakened that a human could do this to him. Crowley forced himself into stillness for fear he'd rip the cup from her hand.

“Did Agnes’s tell you about this?” He asked.

“No ... I had a vision,” She said, pouring something into Aziraphale’s wounds that made him whine pitifully.

“Since when do _you_ have _visions._ ” He demanded, trying to convince himself that Anathema was helping by antagonising the angel. He had already been through so much that it was hard to watch.

“Since about two hours ago, it’s been a bit of a day.” She spat, clearing the blood away.

“You could have warned me this would happen.” He snarled.

“You can’t change the future Crowley, you can only react to it. That’s what Agnes’s taught us. That’s the _ineffable_ plan your lot are all so keen on.” She shouted back.

"This doesn’t need an audience and you’re a distraction for both of us while you’re in this state. If you're going to stand there and snarl, go to the kitchen and boil these together." She said, throwing him a bag. He caught it and peeked in. He hissed and immediately dangled it arms length. "There's a lot of holy water in there."

"So boil it carefully." She snapped. He gave the angel a last, lingering look before he went to do as he was told.

He came back in, holding out a mug in front of him as far as he could. Anathema was whispering to Aziraphale. As he watched, one of the spells in his flesh dulled. Aziraphale sighed, his jaw loosened and he whimpered for Crowley. It was the sweetest sound he had heard in an age. Whatever she was doing, it was working, she was loosening the shackles of Hell. The cup was beside Anathema in a moment and Crowley was by his side. Now the floodgates were opened and Aziraphale couldn’t stop “I’m sorry I’m so stupid I should have listened I shouldn’t have gone out I should have stayed there rather than risk you getting trapped I should have gone back to heaven on my own I-“ Everything he said was abhorrent. How Aziraphale could even think of leaving him willingly was sickening. Crowley did the only thing he could think of to stop it. He kissed him. He realised the last thing Aziraphale probably wanted was to be kissed by this face after what had happened to him in the pit. Aziraphale brought a hand up to keep him there, sensing he was about to pull away from him. Tears were trapped between their faces but Crowley wasn’t sure who they belonged to. After a moment there was a polite clearing of a throat. Crowley had forgotten about Anathema. “Maybe I shouldn’t have fixed his voice so soon.” She said, eyebrows raised. Crowley had the grace to look embarrassed and sedated himself by standing behind the couch, stroking Aziraphale's hair to calm him as Anathema worked.

Hours went by before she would admit the danger was past but Aziraphale had slowly returned to life under her spells and poultices. She had denied Hell another victim. She was the most powerful witch Crowley had ever seen, and he’d been mates with Mother Shipton in the old days.

She eventually excused herslef to pass out on the upstairs couch, a rest that Crowley would not have interrupted for the world. He decided he would start calling her by her name. “How did she know?” The angel whispered, pulling Crowley to him. Crowley wasn’t surprised that his memory was muddled. He lay along the very edge of the couch, terrified of causing more pain to the angel. “She has the gift.” He said softly. 

“A good thing for us.” Aziraphale smiled. “Agnes would be so proud.”

“You knew Agnes?” He asked.

“Who do you think told her about books of prophesy?” The angel smiled blearily.

They were quiet for a long moment. The demon’s eyes lingered on the bandages that covered every inch of him.

“It wasn’t your fault Crowley. I need you to believe that.” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley swallowed and shook his head.

“If it wasn’t for me ... you’d still be a proper angel. Your family wouldn’t be sending you to Hell to punish me, you’d never have failed a single mission.” He swallowed “They would have revered you if it wasn’t for me.”

“But then I wouldn’t be me, I would have gladly fought in the Great War, I would have ripped this world apart without a second thought...” He said gently, stroking Crowley’s hair softly, it looked like it cost him more energy than he had to spare. The image of Aziraphale as cold as Gabriel chilled him.

“Get some rest my love.” He whispered, pressing a kiss into Aziraphale’s forehead. For once the angel conceded, gently leaning his battered form into the demons warmth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to follow~


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is not what we agreed.” The shadow purred, voice full of soft menace. Beelzebub rolled their eyes and scanned the dormant tarmac of Tadfield airbase. It was utterly deserted, and yet Gabriel still insisted on lurking in the shadows. He would make an excellent demon....

“This is not what we agreed.” The shadow purred, voice full of soft menace. Beelzebub rolled their eyes and scanned the dormant tarmac of Tadfield airbase. It was utterly deserted and yet Gabriel still insisted on lurking in the shadows. He would make an excellent demon.

"Are you trying to scare me, angel? It isn't working." They replied, shrugging insolently. Disrespect made Gabriel's blood boil and they knew it. Taunting the archangel was always fun, it was the only reason Beelzebub had agreed to meet him after the disaster with the traitors. 

Gabriel had requested a meeting on neutral ground. It was Beelzebub's idea for that ground to be the site of Gabriel’s greatest fallure, the one that still had half of Heaven ready to revolt at the slightest excuse. It was a long fall from his gilded pedestal, Beelzebub was keen to watch him topple. Technically it was also the site of their own failure, but in Hell they were used to those. 

"Listen, oh holy one, this wasnt what we expected to happen either. He was supposed to die, just like you wanted.” They drawled.

“He was supposed to die in Hell the moment Crowley set foot there. I let you have your game of stringing them along a little longer, that should have been enough.” He reprimanded.

“What would the difference have been? In Hell, in his own bookshop? I don’t see the issue.”

“The issue is he is still breathing.” Gabriel fumed, stalking closer to the demon and instantly regretting it. 

“There was no way the traitor could have healed him. How were we supposed to know they had a pet witch?" Beelzebub snarled.

"Because you met her!" He shouted, extending his arms in frustration. 

"Where?" They asked blankly.

"Here, you know you did." He sighed. If dealing with aziraphale was frustrating, the Prince of Hell was another matter entirely. “She stood there with a human man. They stopped the bombs. It all had to go in my report.” He said, jabbing his finger to where Anathema and Newt had lingered when their part of the plan was done.

"Look Gabriel. He was meant to bleed out the moment he left Hell. Those spells should have ensured it. Whose work were they?" Beelzebub asked almost sweetly as they slouched towards the angel.

"Our side’s" he admitted petulantly, not meeting their eyes. "But they were only supposed to be the fail safe in case he escaped on his own... I trusted you."

"There's your mistake big boy, never trust a demon." They demurred.

"Well you aren't the one who has to explain this to The Almighty." He sighed. 

“Oh come of it Gabriel. When was the last time She spoke to you? To any of you? I bet She doesn’t even listen to Metatron jabbering on anymore. It isn’t the old days anymore, maybe Crowley was right about that.” They sighed.

He frowned in confusion as a demonic hand laid placatingly on his arm.

"Try not to take this too hard Gabriel." Beelzebub said in a genuine tone that only made the angel more suspicious.

" I want them dead. They've made a fool of me once to many ... It's unnatural." Gabriel spat, but he let his arm stay under the demon’s hold.

"True, but they survive everything we throw at them. All the might of Heaven and Hell and they're probably still screwing in that bookshop as we speak." They sighed, running their hand up his arm. They smiled at the quality of the suit, wanting to set it on fire with the rest of Gabriel’s righteousness. Gabriel wrinkled his nose at the vulgarity of their implication.

“So what do you suggest?" He asked.

Beelzebub considered. "We don’t have the resources to hunt them anymore. We're cutting Crowley loose.” They admitted.

“The resources? It’s Hell.” He said blankly.

“He'd take out too many to justify if it came down to a fair fight."

"Since when do you worry about fair?" Gabriel smirked.

"Oh I think you'll find I can be plenty generous..." they said, leaning up into his space, head tilted. The angel blushed but refused to let himself pull away. He would not cower from a demon. He was the Archangel fucking Gabriel. “We’re both just following orders.” Beelzebub said silkily.

“Demons can’t follow orders, it’s why they’re demons. That and the inability to love.” He parroted.

“Crowley seems to be managing it.”

“I doubt that’s love.” He snorted, starting to pull away.

"You act like a prude but you're curious about what they get up to. I can tell."the demon said so quietly that the night around them had to still to ensure Gabriel heard every syllable.

He scoffed a moment too late. "I can even taste a little temptation there, Gabriel. Be careful or a demon might get ... Ideas." They smiled a wicked, knowing smile.

"What kind of ideas?" He found himself asking.

"Well it's a dark and lonely night in the middle of nowhere, who’s to say we didn't get into a scuffle? I’ll even send you back to heaven a little worse for wear for effect. You’ll have all your answers. We’ll say that we did our best to stop those rotten freaks and no one will be any the wiser." They purred. It had been a while since Beelzebub had done some down-in-the-trenches, front line temptations, but they felt the night shiver on the precipice. It was a familiar tingle, an exchange of energy, the merest nudge to let their own fantasies consume them.

"... And you'd never tell?" Gabriel murmured, meeting their eye at last. They had him.

"It would be our little... Arrangement." They smiled, sliding their hands up to Gabriel’a lapels. The angel glanced upwards for strength before he gave a single, sharp nod. The demon dragged him down.

Forty miles away in central London, Crowley put a mug of Coco down on a desk at Aziraphale's elbow. The Angel smiled up at him sweetly, cut lip half way to healed. He smiled at his Aziraphale indulgently and sat at this feet, his head against the angel’s knee. One hand carded through fiery hair while the other slowly turned pages. He hummed quietly as, in his mind’s eye, he imagined ripping angels and demons alike to unrecognisable scraps. He was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I never expected for this to be more than a one shot and I'm honestly overwhelmed by the hits and kudos you've given me for this one. 
> 
> Maybe I'll fix the pacing one day but for now I'm leaving this one here, I think you'll like the next work I have coming up (I've proof-read it and everything)✌️


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